The Quiet Witness
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Cowley has an itch and it's making him irritable. He's pushing his agents to find the elusive Grieves who's slipped through the fingers of the Met and CI5 before
1. The Quiet Witness

The agents had been looking for Grieves for over a week now - they'd all been looking for him. Cowley had an itch and it was making him tetchy. Grieves had slipped through the fingers of the Met's finest and, to Cowley's intense annoyance, he'd also slipped through CI5's fingers too - not once, but twice. Cowley was not in a good mood.

Doyle and Bodie were cold, wet and very irritable. After a fruitless day of looking for Grieves while also working on another case entirely, they split up for the evening. Bodie said that he had a couple of contacts he'd try who may know of Grieves' whereabouts, or the size of his shoes, or his bloody anything. Doyle heard the anger and frustration in his partner's voice and he totally understood it. Doyle said he'd a few contacts in the East End he hadn't yet tried. Bodie dropped him off there before driving away. Doyle's contact had pointed him to a small, anonymous café where the owner may know something. It was just the kind of hidey-hole a fugitive may use to get out of the rain without drawing attention to himself. Doyle bought a cup of tea and ordered a slice of toast. The dried up remains of the day's menu on display behind the glass counter didn't appeal to him despite his hunger.

"I'm looking for a guy named Ted Grieves. I believe you may have something for us."

Doyle didn't need to declare himself a copper. The proprietor had that look of a man who could smell the buttons at twenty paces.

"Me? Why would I know anything?" The guy wasn't going to set himself up as a copper's nark. He already had the heavies breathing down his neck for protection money as it was.

"You here alone?"

The man looked very nervous. Doyle wondered why. His antenna was on high alert. Some people just broke out in hives at the mere mention of a policeman, without actually having anything to hide; it was just a reaction. Could be something, could be nothing. Doyle's experience had taught him that much.

"Well?" Doyle demanded more loudly. There was only one other customer in the café, and it certainly wasn't Grieves. That would have been too easy.

"Course I'm alone." The man looked instinctively towards the kitchens.

_What's he hiding in there_? Doyle thought. He decided to find out. He pushed passed the owner and forced his way into the little kitchen. A thin girl in, perhaps, her late teens, was elbow-deep in suds at the sink. She started as Doyle made his sudden entrance. She looked round for the owner in panic. He emerged at Doyle's shoulder.

"Hey, what's this?" the owner protested, trying to come between Doyle and the skivvy.

"More like 'who's this?'" Doyle corrected.

"She works here."

The girl said nothing. The look of alarm hadn't left her.

"What's your name?"

"Ruth," the man answered for her.

"Don't say much, do you?" Doyle said, ignoring the man and continuing to look at the girl, who'd backed herself into a corner, her wet arms dripping puddles on the floor.

"She's mute," the owner explained.

Doyle was experienced enough to know a run-away when he saw one. "Live on the street do you?"

"She's a good worker. I tell her that she can stay here."

"How long's she been here?" Doyle was still appraising the girl, and her eyes hadn't left Doyle's. He felt that if he took one more step towards her, she'd try to claw through the brickwork.

"A week, two," the man replied vaguely.

A girl on the street - an ear on the street - could come in handy. Doyle took a wild shot in the dark.

"Know a guy called Grieves?"

To Doyle's astonishment, the girl nodded. It was the briefest of nods. If Doyle hadn't been staring at her, he could have missed it. He felt his heart racing. Of all the crazy hunches …

"Ok," he said, trying to sound calm, "just sit down out there (there wasn't a chair in the small kitchen) and tell me where you know him from."

She looked desperately at her employer. He nodded in a reluctant acceptance. The men withdrew to allow her space to enter the café. She hadn't even had time, or thought, to dry herself. The single customer had now left. The owner took his dirty apron off and handed it to her as they all sat down.

"Now," Doyle said gently, "tell me what you know."

Rubbing her red arms distractedly with the apron, she looked confused as though she didn't know where to start. Doyle would need to help her.

"When did you first see him?" he probed gently.

She gave hand signals. The proprietor interpreted. Doyle eventually recognised the signals as finger spelling. He'd studied it once many years ago when he'd first joined the force but had now forgotten the system. Fortunately the owner seemed quite well versed in it.

"She says that time has no meaning. I suppose it doesn't …"

Doyle sighed and interrupted. "How do you know him? How do you know who he is?" It was like dragging blood from a stone.

"I heard his name," the owner translated.

"Where?" Doyle had already given up on the 'when'.

"At the old factory near here. Others there."

The owner told Doyle that the girl used to squat there before she got the job at his café. Doyle knew that Grieves ran in a pack sometimes if he had a specific job on. He'd read all there was on the man. This snippet of news from the teen was encouraging. He just needed to be sure that they were talking about the same guy and to narrow down the geography.

"Can you describe him for me?"

As the girl began to spell out her next words, the door crashed in. A guy with an automatic planted himself in the doorway and sprayed death across the small café for precisely ten seconds before rushing out and throwing himself back in the car that had its engine running. He was off and away before anyone knew what had just happened.

Three bodies lay on the floor in the sudden silence. Glass from the display case shattered across the lino. The only sound was from the drip of tomato sauce from a broken bottle on the table and the jagged breathing of the terrified and wounded. After nearly a minute Ruth began to move. She crawled slowly towards her employer, gasping with shock. He it was who had given her food, shelter and a little money in her pocket. He it was who was uppermost in her mind. He couldn't be dead. A good man like this; he just couldn't be. She crawled passed Doyle, sobbing. He was beginning to stir. He reached out, grabbing her ankle to hold her back once he realised where she was going.

"Let me just check first, love," he gasped. He'd seen death before. He didn't want her to be a witness to it, too.

Doyle dragged himself painfully across the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind him. He had been right to hold the girl back. A bullet had made a nasty hole where the man's right eye should have been. Another bullet had struck his neck and the third was buried in his chest somewhere. It didn't take a doctor to work out the man's condition. Doyle curled his body towards Ruth.

"I'm sorry, love. He's dead."

She looked at him for a while, trying not to believe it. Her eyes tore away from Doyle towards the man. She nodded - that very brief nod again - and shuffled a little away from both men. Her silence weighed heavily. She curled herself into a ball and began to cry. Her sobbing seemed to echo around the small café. There was nothing Doyle could do to help her, so he reached for his radio and was relieved that it hadn't been broken in the mêlée.

"4.5," he gasped, "A2 emergency."

Doyle then gave the rough address of the little café and hoped it was enough. He felt reassured by Alex's calm response. All they could do now was wait. He felt the darkness closing in on him as he tried to hold on.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Bodie heard the general alert. He knew, from the call sign, that an ambulance would be on its way. He'd been heading home after a predictably abortive interview but diverted now to the address Doyle had given. He knew where it was as an ex-girlfriend had lived nearby. He revved the car and arrived before the ambulance. Flinging the car onto the pavement he threw himself out, racing into the café. He took everything in at once. Three bodies lay on the floor - correction, one was kneeling. He felt sick but forced himself to keep calm as he approached the scene. A teenage girl was kneeling over his partner. She looked at him with terrified eyes, her hair forming a dirty curtain across her face. She continued to bear down on the stomach wound of her casualty, her body shaking with sobs. For a second Bodie thought she was grieving for his dead partner. He tried to delete that thought from his head as he glanced over to the third party. It didn't take a second to see that the man there was dead. The girl seemed unharmed - terrified, but bullet-free. Bodie drew his attention back to his friend. He knelt down on the other side of Doyle, took his pulse, and then lifted an eyelid. Doyle's pulse was all over the place, but at least he was alive. Bodie leaned back and shuddered with relief. As the ambulance drew up a moment later, Bodie introduced himself to her. The girl nodded briefly. The paramedics administered first aid at the scene and Bodie gently guided the girl away from Doyle's side to let the medics do their job. Doyle began to stir. Leaving the teen, Bodie eased back onto his knees.

"What's that, mate?" he asked anxiously, stroking his friend's forehead tenderly.

"Sir …"

But Bodie waved the doctor to silence.

"She knows," Doyle gasped, but that was as far as he got. The doctors slipped their patient expertly onto a stretcher, with Bodie looking anxiously on. As the door to the ambulance closed and Bodie heading reluctantly towards his car, Cowley and a couple of CI5 agents arrived.

"Well?" Cowley barked, watching the ambulance disappear into the night.

"A bloodbath," Bodie started succinctly. "A bloke - looks like the owner - dead. Doyle with a bullet to the guts. And her," he turned to the teen. He'd kept hold of her wrist in case she ran off. "Doyle said, 'she knows'. I presume from that he meant that she knows something about Grieves. Is that right?"

The girl gave her curt nod. She dragged a wet sleeve across her face, but couldn't staunch the tears. She was shaking violently.

"Are you hurt?" Cowley asked.

The girl shook her head, still staring at the pavement.

"Take her to the hospital in any case and let me know about Doyle."

The Old Man didn't even try to hide his anxiety.

"Sir," Bodie acknowledged, glad to follow orders.

He left Cowley and the others entering the café to see what they could find in the carnage.

In the car, Bodie asked the girl her name and her relationship with the dead man. To all his questions he got no answer, so he gave up. She was making an effort to control her tears and to take in what was happening now. Once at the hospital, he again kept hold of her as he made his way to reception. They had no news - Bodie hadn't expected any so soon - at least Doyle was still alive - so he took the girl to the canteen. He asked her if she wanted anything to eat and she pointed to an item on the menu. Bodie got a meal for himself too and they settled down to eat their food in silence. Bodie used the time to assess the girl under the clear light of florescent lighting and to give her a chance to come to terms (as much as she could) with what had happened. Bodie judged that she might be from the streets. She didn't look like a user though. She was shivering from cold and shock not withdrawal. That much Bodie knew. As they came to the end of their meals, Bodie was about to ask her her name, when she began signalling. At first Bodie was confused.

"Are you trying to say you're deaf and dumb?" Bodie knew for a fact that she wasn't deaf. He looked at her suspiciously through narrowed eyes.

She tapped her throat.

"Bad throat, eh?"

A nod. Bodie's suspicions grew at the obvious lie. The speed at which she'd gobbled her food suggested to the sharp Bodie that her throat was in fine working order. But it was also clear that she wasn't going to give out anything voluntarily. She knew that she wasn't believed, but it was too complicated to explain to this man. She also knew that anger was very close to his surface and that this Bodie knew the injured man because she was sharper than anyone gave her credit for. Not only that, he seemed emotionally close to him too. Adding this up, she judged Bodie to be on a knife-edge. Her muteness was not going down well with this brittle man.

Bodie sighed. "Ok, so it's 'yes and no' games is it?"

The girl looked at him and signalled again.

"Look, I don't read sign language, ok?"

Again she heard the anger and was afraid.

Bodie ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Doyle's better at this than I am." It was said more to himself than to her.

All she could do was look at him and try to send telepathic messages to help him. Inevitably the signs weren't received. Then she had a thought and made writing impressions. A light bulb went on behind Bodie's eyes.

"Of course," he said, dragging the chair back and taking her with him.

They ended up at the hospital's general shop where Bodie bought a large writing block and a pack of biros. As usual, he'd forgotten to bring a notebook with him - Doyle usually made some snide comment about that. A shock of emotion wound round Bodie's guts as he remembered the reason for their being here. She saw something pass across Bodie's face, but it was there and gone in a moment - sadness? fear?

They ended up back at the canteen.

"Ok, first question - name," Bodie started off, handing her the stationery.

It took a while to get a pen to work, but eventually Bodie got her name.

"And your second name?"

She looked at him warily. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Ruth is all I am; Ruth is all I have."

"Very enigmatic," Bodie commented dryly.

She went on to explain that she had amnesia and was running away from her demons. "I have to keep moving," she said.

"Well you're not running from here, Ruth. You're staying right here with me. Ok?"

Ruth took the final comment to be an unmoveable statement.

"Doyle thinks you know something. What did you say to him?"

Her writings were cut off by a tannoy announcement for Bodie's presence. He got up so quickly that Ruth jumped with shock. He'd forgotten how fragile she was. But there was no time for apologies, or pandering to her emotions. He dragged her to reception. She had difficulty keeping up with him. The receptionist directed him to a consulting room where a doctor was waiting for him. He looked at the girl quizzically.

"If I could speak to you confidentially, Mr Bodie," the doctor said, still eyeing the girl.

Bodie was torn. It was clear that the consultant wasn't going to say anything in front of her. She pointed helpfully to the corridor. Bodie was on the edge of trust.

"All right," he eventually conceded. "But I wouldn't like to be in your shoes if I have to go and look for you."

Bodie loomed as only Bodie could. The girl slunk off, closing the door quietly behind her, fear in her eyes.

"She's in our custody," Bodie explained, wondering why he was explaining, "and I don't trust her an inch."

"She doesn't say much," the consultant queried, still looking at the door.

"She's mute. You're here to tell me about Doyle." Someone needed to get back to the point.

"Ah, yes. Have a seat."

They sat as Bodie's stomach knotted.

"The bullet entered here and lodged itself in his spine." Bodie went cold. The doctor saw the colour leave the man's face. He hastily continued. "Fortunately it didn't fracture a disc or sever the spinal cord. It was a bit tricky to get out, but there's no lasting damage. We were very careful. However, Mr Doyle will have to be very still for the next several days to ensure that there's no complications."

"Is he awake?"

"He's only just out of theatre," Bodie had forgotten this. "so I wouldn't expect him to be awake until tomorrow. You can see him briefly, but he needs rest. He seems quite exhausted."

_We're all that_, thought Bodie. _You should see Cowley's itch._ But he said nothing and followed the doctor out. He'd forgotten about Ruth, but she was standing to attention in the corridor. She threw Bodie a self-satisfied look, which Bodie chose to ignore. He reached for her wrist, and then held himself back. He, too, could play the trust game. She quietly followed the pair down the corridor, not knowing where she was going or why.

The side room was in darkness. Doyle was, as the doctor had said, flat out. The usual bleeps and peeps of equipment kept him company. A tube snaked up his nose and another into the crook of his arm. The doctor made a tactful withdrawal and the girl followed him out, as Bodie's attention was completely on the patient in front of him. Ruth retired to the canteen to begin an essay on a man she had seen called Grieves. She figured that Bodie might remember her eventually.


End file.
